A Soul's Rebirth
by Alaura Fairfield
Summary: [Jesus Christ Superstar] An account of Mary Magdalene's first meeting with the Christ and its effect on her perception of life.


Author's Note: Before any of you attempt to read this story, I have to tell you something: I'm formatting-disabled. I have the biggest problems with formatting my stories right, so if this is really hard to read due to paragraph length, etc...then I apologize profusely. Thanks! ---A.F.  
  
A small stream of vibrant morning sunlight filtered into the darkened room through a slat in the doorway, spilling out onto the unkempt bed, which seemed to be the focal point of the room. A figure stirred beneath the abundant coverings, wincing with annoyance as the light danced playfully across her face, forcing open her long-lashed eyes. Mary stole a glance to her right and sighed with relief to find that she was the sole inhabitant of her bed. So last nights' inebriated patron had managed to regain enough sobriety to slink away from the bordello before the break of dawn. "Thank God for that," Mary muttered, her face twisting with pain as she gingerly touched the battered skin around her left eye. The night before had not been an easy one; the demons had returned again.  
  
Although their attacks were generally sporadic, Mary suffered greatly under the hands of seven malicious spirits that dwelled within her brain. Each demon possessed its own individual brand of wickedness, and the combination of the seven became too much for her to bear. Mary never could recall clearly the specific events occurring under the influence of the spirits, but the splitting headache that always ensued provided her with a reminder of the relentless torment of these incidents. As her head throbbed mercilessly, Mary struggled to remember the happenings of the previous night and was surprised when relatively-detailed images flashed through her mind. She saw herself pinned beneath a large, hulking male body, which appeared to be about ready to do precisely what it had paid for. However, Mary heard herself release a deafening shriek, followed by a series of hoarse whispers in a language that she could not identify. As her figure trembled and contorted, the man atop her brought his fist down upon her face, pounding again and again until she ceased all movement.  
  
"That would explain the bruising," Mary thought to herself, wrapping a sheet around her naked form as she rose from the bed, shuffling her injured body towards the small, partially cracked looking glass at the opposite end of the chamber. She sighed with displeasure as she surveyed her face; remnants of kohl were still smudged beneath her dusky eyes, supplemented by the violet bruise adorning the left side of her face. Her cheekbones seemed to protrude dramatically from her sunken visage; when had she eaten last? Her midnight hair hung limply about her shoulders, further accentuating her sickly, wraith-like appearance. She had clients to deal with that day; how could she allow them to come to her bed while she looked like a woman half-dead? Yes, it would be a difficult day indeed. She felt tears well up in her dark eyes, and she bit her lip fiercely to restrain them. How she wised she could leave this place and live freely, her body belonging fully to herself and not to the owners of the bordello. She forced herself to block her mind to the vision of an airy, ideal life in Paradise; dreams were of no use to her and practicality was of the essence.  
  
Mary mechanically went about the tasks involved in readying herself for her day's work. She re-applied the kohl to her eyes, clothed herself in a clingy robe of cinnabar silk (a gift from a wealthy Indian merchant) and tugged her precious ivory comb through her knotted hair until it flowed down her back like an ebony waterfall. Glancing back at her looking glass, she was relieved to see a distinct improvement from her last viewing. A hint of exotic pigment on her cheekbones and lips provided the finishing touches; the bruises were hardly visible now. Perhaps she would last through the day after all; her physical veneer might be enough to conceal the hollowness of her spirit.  
  
A loud slam of her door announced the entry of Anna, a vivacious, highly popular newcomer to the brothel. "Mary, you must come outside!" she squealed, gripping Mary's arm with great excitement.  
  
"I'd rather not, Anna," Mary replied heavily. "I have a busy day ahead; I'd do better to stay here and relax beforehand."  
  
"But Mary, you MUST come and see this!" Anna insisted, her blue eyes shining energetically. "There's a man out in the marketplace...a prophet or something...but oh, Mary, you must hear the things he's saying! Come, come!" Vaguely intrigued, Mary allowed Anna to lead her down the dusty path to the marketplace, where they encountered a remarkably large crowd. "Why, half the town must be here!" Mary exclaimed with wonderment.  
  
"Look, there he is! Listen, Mary, listen!" Anna chirped, squeezing her companion's hand as she motioned to the center of the phalanx. Mary craned her neck, following Anna's finger until she finally saw him. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked upon his lightly-complected, finely sculpted face, framed delicately by tawny hair. His voice was gentle and mellifluous, and as his words reached her ears, Mary felt herself hypnotized by his every phrase and utterance. Suddenly, it seemed as though her entire life before this moment had been nothing more than an unpleasant dream, and that she was finally awakening to a beautiful and joyous reality.  
  
His gaze shifted in her direction, and her heart danced with elation as his eyes met hers. For a brief, euphoric moment, Mary felt perfectly safe and happy, content to lose herself in his benevolent, captivating eyes. However, her mind soon began to buzz frantically as a red miasma filled her gaze and an acidic bile rose in her throat; the demons had returned. Panic seized her as she slowly began to back away from Th. crowd, desperate to escape the prophet's eyes. Her dulled sense vision still allowed Mary to perceive the man striding rapidly towards her, his hands gripping her upper arms firmly as he drew her to him.  
  
Jesus held the woman in a vice-like grip, his face sober and intent as he watched her struggle frenetically. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she hissed furiously in a peculiar tongue, her nails sinking deeply into his skin until he saw spots of crimson appearing upon his white tunic. Her trembling began to escalate dramatically, and Jesus came to realize the nature of her affliction. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he pressed his mouth to hers, inhaling deeply as he commenced the exorcism. He felt her wriggle and writhe in his arms, attempting to tear her mouth from his. However, he remained firm and was soon vaguely aware of a gasp from the crowd; the process was working. He felt himself begin to shiver violently as the spirits exited her body and entered his---one, two, three-- -the demons raged angrily within him, causing him searing pain----four, five, six----finally, he felt an enormous burst of energy exuding from his form---the seventh spirit had been destroyed at last.  
  
The afflicted woman relaxed in his arms, and he sensed her lips moving beneath his, but she did not seem to have any intention of breaking away. Her arms twined about his neck as she softly parted his lips, her tongue darting into his mouth, seeming to communicate her relief and gratitude. He wrapped his arms about her narrow waist, drawing her closer in order to deepen the caress. He sensed a great importance linked with this woman; her destiny was somehow connected to his, of that he was certain.  
  
Finally separating her face from his, Mary held his gaze for several moments longer, her eyes wide with amazement as he smiled warmly upon her: she was cured at last. Her dark eyes filled with tears as she sank to her knees, paying no heed to the dust accumulating upon her fine robes. She gripped the man's hand and lowered her damp face to bow to her Savior. However, he soon cupped her chin with his free hand, raising her from the ground. Pure, unadulterated love seeped into Mary's long-hardened heart as he brushed a stray lock of raven hair from her face, his voice tender as he whispered her name: "Mary Magdalene."  
  
Still clearly weakened by the ordeal, Mary's knees gave way and she clung to Jesus for support, her head pressed closely to his chest. He closed his arms around her protectively, feeling her tears seeping through the fabric of his robe. As he stroked her tousled hair, images flashed before his eyes: a small, swarthy girl-child weeping passionately over the prostrate bodies of her parents; the same girl at sixteen, tears leaking from her doe- like eyes as she lay spread-eagled beneath a large, hairy male figure, attempting to avert her gaze from the pool of blood forming around her; the girl six years later, the self-same Mary Magdalene currently within his arms, leaning in a doorway clothed in all the ornate finery of a well-paid prostitute, her seductive smile a desperate effort to conceal the sorrow weighing heavily upon her heart. The visions began to fade as Mary regained her footing, standing upright once more. Her gaze again met his, and he witnessed a new clarity pervading her expression as a trace of a smile crept into her luminous eyes. Despite the stains of dust and cosmetics on her skin and the mussed quality of her hair, he saw her as truly beautiful, a creature reborn through her love and wish for understanding.  
  
"Thank you, Lord," she breathed, and he took her head between his callused hands, brushing his lips across her brow. "Go in peace, little sister," he responded, yet as she slowly backed away from him and started down the path from the marketplace, he silently hoped that she would not heed his words; she was of too much significance to fade into anonymity. Nevertheless, he moved back towards the center of the crowd, where his apostles stood dumbstruck. "Make ready to leave," he instructed them. "Our work here is done."  
  
Like a woman in a dream, Mary sailed down the path to the bordello, her steps so light and quick that she felt as if she must be flying. She paused at a small well, dipping her hands into the cool water and washing her face clean of the dust, tears, and kohl residue. An expression of complete elation passed across her countenance as she continued down the path; her life was about to change. Stepping into her darkened chamber, Mary lost no time in collecting her few possessions of personal value, wrapping them in a small cloth that she had woven herself and fastening the makeshift satchel securely within her robe.  
  
As Mary proceeded with this task, Anna hastened into the room, her cerulean eyes wide with disbelief. "Mary..." she whispered, shaking her flaxen head with amazement, "...that...that was a miracle!"  
  
"I know, Anna," Mary responded, her voice lighter and happier than it had been in years.  
  
"I've never seen anything like it! He saved you, Mary! What...what did it feel like?"  
  
"I could never describe it, even if I tried. But I now know my true purpose, Anna...and it does not exist here. I must leave this place now."  
  
"Leave...?" Anna sputtered confusedly. "But you can't just LEAVE, Mary. You have clients today...the boss will be so angry..."  
  
"Don't you see that it doesn't matter anymore?" Mary replied, a trace of laughter in her musical voice as she approached the other woman. "I will miss you and pray for you, dearest Anna. May you soon be free from all that binds you here," Mary spoke warmly, kissing Anna's ivory cheek with great affection. Although clearly still bemused, Anna returned the gesture, offering her beautiful, wistful smile to her friend as she bid her farewell: "I hope you find what you seek, Mary Magdalene. Now hurry and go, before someone catches you!"  
  
Bare feet made rapid contact with packed dirt as Mary raced down the pathway leading to the outskirts of town, her ebony hair flying out behind her like a horse's mane. She finally halted at a small encampment near the edge of the village, where a group of men and their wives appeared ready to embark on a long journey. Mary's eyes were riveted immediately to the lithe, golden-haired form standing somewhat apart from the rest, his eyes scanning the expanse of road ahead. Approaching him slowly, Mary felt her heart leap in her chest as his gaze fell upon her, his beautiful smile appearing as he recognized her. "This is right!" A voice cried out within her soul, "This is where you belong!" Fixing her eyes upon his unfalteringly, she spoke in a voice pregnant with emotion, "Please, let me follow you, Master. This is where I am meant to be, I know it. Please." Jesus' smile seemed more warm and compassionate than ever as he took Mary's hand in his own, his head inclining in a slight nod. "Yes, Mary Magdalene, this is where your fate lies. Come, walk beside me." Nodding over his shoulder as a signal for the apostles to follow, Jesus of Nazareth started down the westward path, the soft hand of Mary Magdalene clasped tightly within his own as the sun began its descent beneath the Israelite hills. 


End file.
